


Seven

by FreshPrincessofCheyne



Category: DCU (Animated)
Genre: Clark being a dork, First Meeting, Identity Porn, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-23 14:06:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4879720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreshPrincessofCheyne/pseuds/FreshPrincessofCheyne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As their relationship develops throughout the years, Clark has an awful habit of running into doors whenever he's distracted by Bruce.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seven

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Batman Day!!

The first time the two met, Clark Kent had an exclusive interview scheduled with Bruce Wayne. They ran into each other, _literally_ , Clark's hands falling on Bruce's waist while Bruce hung off of Clark's shoulders. Holding each other for longer then necessary, it took Bruce's secretary to clear her throat in order to get the two men to separate. Clark averted his eyes as he coughed into his hand, Bruce's eyes doing the opposite and confidently (not to mention unashamedly), traveling their way up the reporters surprisingly muscular body. Like the gentlemen he was raised to be, he opened the double doors to his office, gesturing for the reporter to make his way inside as his tongue darted out to wet his lips. Bruce knew his secretary saw the raise of his eyebrows as he didn't hide the fact that he totally checked out this gorgeous man's ass. He sent a wink to his secretary as he entered his office, shutting the doors behind him with a click.

When the interview came to an end (Clark had never blushed so much in his life), he made his exit, only to run straight into the double doors because his eyes had been glued on Bruce. He could feel his cheeks grow hot as he played with the door handle, having difficulty in getting the damned thing to turn; it was like he lost all motor functions in his hands. When he was successful at last, he said his goodbye and disappeared.

Bruce counted. _One_.

During work a week later, Bruce Wayne, the Daily Planet's owner, had come to visit. To avoid embarrassing himself a second time with his boss, he tried to leave the room, only to once again, run right into him. From a few feet away, he could hear Lois mutter, “Smooth, Smallville. _Smooth_.”

“I'm so sorry Mr. Wayne,” he stammered, adjusting his round glasses. "I didn't-"

Bruce raised a hand and smiled that warm, heart-wrenching smile that made Clark's heart dance in his chest. Then, he said as sweet and sour as candy, “No harm done, handsome.” Clark couldn't ignore the hand that lingered on his lower back, one of Bruce's fingers tracing patterns in the cheap material of his suit. He tried to shrink away.

“I've got to uh, run something by my-” he froze, unable to continue as Bruce locked eyes with Clark. It was as if words were no longer needed, their body language much louder and easier to translate. Bruce's eyes were suggestive, the kind that made you want to throw the man into the closest closet and absolutely ravish him. Yanking himself from Bruce's grip, he nearly tripped over his own two feet, steadying himself on Lois' desk. “I've got uh- I've got to go.”

“Mhm,” Bruce hummed. “I'll be seeing you for sure.” As Bruce left, Clark found a great hiding spot under Lois' desk. He was actually surprised he could fit underneath it in the first place. Then after about a minute of successful hide and seek without any other participants but himself, Lois was standing in front of him, her arms crossed over her chest. 

“Is the cost clear?” He hissed. That earned him a slap to the head. “ _Hey_!”

“What the hell was that? And dammit Kent, stand up straight.”

He did as she said and replied with, “Um- it was nothing; nothing at all.” He glanced over Lois' head (which wasn't hard, mind you), to make sure Bruce was truly gone.

“It had to be something. I mean, I wish he'd look at _me_ like that, but we all can't get what we want,” she muttered mostly to herself. “Anyway, what got into you? You were too much like” -she struggled for a word, making hand gestures as she thought- “...yourself.  _If_ you know what I mean.” She shrugged, fixing Clark's tie and straightening his glasses. He huffed, the heat still burning his cheeks.

“It was nothing, Lois. Really.” _Even_ I _don't know how to explain it_ , he thought to himself.

“Yeah, it was nothing; like I also believe the Earth is flat,” she said sarcastically, “I'm not some gullible girl who can't tell when something is going on, Kent. Give it a rest. If you're so smitten with him, go after him. _Chase your dreams_ , or however that dumb saying goes,” she muttered, sounding uninterested as she glanced at her finely trimmed nails. 

“Lois, he's my boss! That's against the rules,” He protested.

She rolled her eyes. “It doesn't even surprise me anymore that you  _actually_ follow the rules.” Sighing, she put her hands on her hips. “The point is- he's my boss too but if he was that interested in me, I don't think I'd really give a damn who he was. And you shouldn't either.”

“No. Absolutely not.”

Lois slapped Clark's shoulder. “Listen, Kent. It's time you find someone to settle down with.”

“Yes, I will. And he _won't_ be my boss.”

“Live a little, farm-boy. Ever since I met you, I haven't seen you date a single person.”

“I'm waiting for the right one, Lois. Cut me some slack.”

“Alright. But you better make it happen. I might just try and snatch up your man.” Patting Clark on the cheek, she strutted away, her lips lifting into a smirk.

“He's not my man!” Clark called after her, causing his co-workers to turn their heads. He blushed, muttering a lame apology at his rude interruption.

Waving, Lois called over her shoulder, “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Smallville. Hopefully, it'll be _Mr. Dreamy_ ,” she teased with a suggestive waggle of her eyebrows.

Before he could holler something back, an arm brushed by him, reaching for something nearby. He spun around, gasping, as he leaned against his desk. _Where the hell did he even come from?_

“Sorry,” Bruce purred, leaning closer into Clark, practically draped over the larger man. “Forgot something,” he said quietly in his ear. Clark gulped and pushed his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose. He freed himself of Bruce Wayne and hurried away without another word, keeping his eyes on his boss' curious ones. Just as he went to turn, he hit something hard, his glasses falling off his face as he nearly lost his balance.

Laughing as the reporter fixed his glasses quickly and fled the room, Bruce ticked off another number. _Two_.

On their first date, Bruce had decided to play a little game of his own; how fast could he reduce his date into a stuttering, blushing mess that could no longer find words? All it took was Bruce's hand on his thigh and then on his zipper and _that_ was when Clark excused himself, jumping up and knocking over the glasses on the table in the process. As he scurried away, his eyes on Bruce, he banged _right_ into the men's bathroom door. Leaning back in the booth, the candle flickering, Bruce clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. _Three_.

When Superman and Batman met for the first time, their conversation was anything but pleasant. They didn't get along at all and Superman never thought it was possible to despise someone so much. When Superman lifted off into the sky, his narrowed eyes still on the mysterious man on the rooftop below him, he flew straight into a flagpole, ripping it right from its spot on the side of a building. His cheeks immediately flared and he attempted to shove it back into its spot, only to fail. He huffed and bent the metal rod in a fit of anger, forcing it back in its slot with more power then necessary, pieces of crumbling brick making their descend to the sidewalks below.

Batman smirked as Superman disappeared in a blur of red and blue.  _Four_.

Superman had finally revealed his identity to Bruce, who responded with a timid smile (since he had known years before during their first meeting, he didn't really know how to react), and he then proceeded to tell Clark who _he_ was. There was a fight and then there was sex. Lips clashed together desperately and bodies molded together, fingers clinging and grabbing forcefully- grabbing hair, faces, limbs... It was heart-filled, it was needed, _wanted_ ; two men who had been so use to being alone, coming together and fixing each other with soft touches and deep, gentle thrusts that for the first time, actually held meaning, depth, _love_. Letting his lips trail down Bruce's exposed neck, his cock throbbed inside of Bruce, only causing him to further tighten his hold on the body beneath him; speak words made of honey in Bruce's ear. The two reached their climaxes together. Bruce's shattered his bones and made his body go rigid against Clark's as he thrashed, his jaw slack and his back arched, Clark's name on his lips like a broken record. Once the two finished, they decided silence was best and spent it close to one another, like how close they had gotten during their recent activities. Clark was resting his head against Bruce's chest, tracing the skin that was now covered in goosebumps by the soft touches, love-bites littering his scarred flesh. He grinned to himself.

Later, when Clark had gotten up to take a shower, locking his lips with Bruce's before heading off, he practically left Bruce in tears of laughter as he ran into his bathroom door, leaving a visible crack right up the middle of the wood. With a blushing Clark hiding behind the door, Bruce sighed happily and fell back against the covers. _Five_.

When they were married, Clark was still his clumsy, dorky self. The man Bruce had come to love over their long years together. He had made the first move, finally deciding to let someone in; to let someone be his other half. And who could be more perfect then Clark? He kept Bruce satisfied and in check, kept him healthy and happy. When Bruce finished a hard night of patrol on a Thursday night, he sunk down onto the leather couch in his study with a novel. He yanked at the collar of his black turtle neck and felt hands make their way down his chest, a chin resting on the top of his head, momentarily startling him. He smirked and tugged Clark down so he landed on his stomach, where Bruce climbed on top of him to straddle his lower back. He carefully kneaded his fingers along Clark's tense shoulders, letting his lips kiss below his ear, then on Clark's neck.

“You've got such amazing hands, Bruce,” Clark groaned.

“So I've been told.” He leaned down further, his teeth tugging on Clark's earlobe. “Multiple times.”

Clark turned over and sat up in a quick motion, steadying Bruce by his hips. “I'm in love with you. You know that?” He kissed Bruce.

“Of course I do. It's why I married you,” he replied breathlessly, resting his forehead against his husband's. “I...I'm in love with _you_ , Clark Kent.”

“I want to show you just how much I really need you, B. How much I crave for you,” he hummed against the base of Bruce's throat. That earned him a groan and fingers tangling in his hair, gently tugging.

“Oh believe me, C” -he giggled at the mention of their cute nicknames- “you show me every night. It also costs me a new bed every month.”

Clark laughed and carefully placed Bruce down, letting him return to his novel. “I'm going to head off to bed. You're welcome to join me,” he said, slowly backing out of the study.

Bruce shrugged him off. “I will later. Don't hog all the damn blankets either.”

“Me?” He said incredulously, pointing a finger at himself. He shook his head. “You're the one that hogs them all!”

“You hog them first.”

“You're full of shit, Bruce.”

“I know,” he agreed, focusing on his novel.

Clark rolled his eyes and huffed, gaining Bruce's attention again. “What?” he added.

He blew a kiss towards Bruce who rolled his eyes, but pretended to catch it anyway and placed it over his heart. “You're such a moron, Clark.”

“I know. But you love me anyway.”

“That I do. Nighty, night.”

He smiled fondly at Bruce, sitting cross-legged, his head buried in his book, a beautiful smile sketched along his features. He could never forget why he had fallen in love with Bruce. It was when Bruce did little things like be himself that reminded Clark of his adoration for his husband. He didn't want anyone else. If he didn't have Bruce, he had nothing.

“Night.” Spinning around and tearing his eyes from the beauty on the couch, he ran head first into the door frame behind him. He grinned despite his idiocy and turned to glance sheepishly at Bruce. His husband glanced up, his laughter livening up the dim room as he threw his head back against the cushions.

“ _Six_.” 

Rubbing his forehead, Clark frowned cutely. “Six?”

“Six,” Bruce confirmed with a nod. “I've been counting all the times you've dented doors with that thick head of yours. Oh, and don't forget the flagpole. There's been six,” he repeated.

“ _Bruce_!” He groaned. “That's not funny!”

“Six has always been my favorite number,” he teased, getting to his feet to stand by Clark's side. A firm arm pulled his body close. A suggestive eyebrow was raised.

“Is it? Well, as of now, mine's sixty nine. Come on, let's get to bed.” He leaned down to pull Bruce into his arms, bridal style. Bruce gasped and his arms instinctively wrapped around Clark's neck. 

“Look at you; you're just full of charm tonight, aren't you handsome? How hard have you been hitting your head lately?” He made a fist and gently tapped it against Clark's forehead. He giggled when Clark's lips glided along his neck.

“Well, I'll have to admit that in all my years, I've never come across someone so absolutely _astonishing_. You can't blame me for being distracted all the time. It's really all your fault.”

Bruce laughed, pressing his lips to Clark's cheek in a sloppy, playful kiss. “I guess it is."

Walking into their bedroom, his eyes on his husband's, there was a thud from above and a faint _ow_ that came from Clark. He always forgot how low the doorway was. That was when Bruce lost it, howling in laughter, clutching his stomach.

He corrected himself.

Make that _seven_. 

 


End file.
